


Why I Can't Stand Vila Restal

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Nova</p><p>Avon and Vila usually cruise the gay bars together but this time Vila sends Avon back to the Liberator - and Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why I Can't Stand Vila Restal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> Author's Note: Previously published in Fire and Ice 6

Vila is perfectly well aware that I dislike the bar scene. He knows I only accompany him on his sordid jaunts for one specific purpose. So his behaviour that night was inexcusable.

Ironically enough, the evening began with a pleasurable sense of anticipation as I scanned the clientele of the Well-Hung Jury. I have very particular tastes but it appeared that, for once, there was a chance they would be gratified. The man lounging by the bar might have been designed to meet my needs. Tall. Heavily built. Muscular. A riot of brown curls. It took me precisely eight seconds to catch his eye, after which he strolled over, glanced from Vila to me and back again and said, 'You two together?'

That seemed a highly improbable conclusion to draw from the available evidence. I was so taken aback that Vila seized the opportunity to answer, saying with a grin, 'Not bleeding likely, chum. He's an Alpha. I'm just an ignorant Delta.'

'Could've fooled me,' our new friend commented, pinching Vila's cheek. 'You look like you know a thing or two. I was sure you had to be an SM pair, on account of the outfit and all.'

As his eyes flicked towards me, Vila said quickly, 'Nah, Avon's your basic computer nerd, really. He just likes wearing leather. Feels the cold, y'know.'

'Thank you, Vila,' I said in my iciest tones. 'However, I believe I can explain myself quite adequately, if I am given the chance.'

I lowered my eyes and then looked up through my lashes. Waited for the stranger's response and, with intense chagrin, heard him ask Vila to dance. Vila Restal is omnivorous. He would happily have gone home - or out into the back lane - with any man in the room. There was no call for him to accept the stranger's invitation. But he did.

The two of them stationed themselves directly in my sightline and, under the guise of dancing, proceeded to put on an exhibition that would not have seemed out of place in a pornovid. My initial annoyance at Vila increased with every grope and kiss and fumble. When he detached himself briefly and gasped for air, I jerked my head to summon him back. He came reluctantly, with the stranger loitering behind.

'Hands off, Vila,' I hissed. 'I saw him first, remember. Make an excuse and leave. Now.'

'No,' he said, uncharacteristically obstinate. 'I let you have the one in Space City. And the one on Chayk, come to think of it. But this one's mine, Avon. I happen to like him.'

'Oh, you like him, do you? Well, I need him - and you know why. Stop playing games with me. I won't stand for it.'

'Ooh, I'm scared,' Vila whimpered in mock-terror, grabbing the stranger's hand. As the big man beamed down at him, he leaned forward and whispered, 'Get a life, Avon. If you're so obsessed by this whole business, why not do something about it, instead of hanging round on the edge of other people's lives?'

'All right,' I said through clenched teeth. 'Since you are not prepared to accommodate me, I shall leave.' As Vila backed off, genuinely unnerved this time, I lunged past him to grip the stranger's arm. 'Just tell me one thing first,' I snarled, fingers digging in deep. 'Why him, not me?'

His eyes ran up and down me in a practised appraisal. 'You're prettier,' he observed. 'But you're too damn dangerous. This one looks like a nice cosy armful, which happens to be exactly what I want tonight.'

Vila insinuated himself under the man's brawny arm and smiled at me smugly, temporarily safe from retaliation. So I took the only other option remaining to me and left.

Having teleported up to the Liberator, I headed straight for the shower room to splash cold water on my temples and wrists. Then I stepped back and studied my reflection. Brown hair, cut in a fringe, not a Space Rat's mohawk. Brown eyes, although they can look darker on occasion. Long nose, wide mouth and all the standard accoutrements of a face. Dangerous? I couldn't see it myself but there seemed to be no convincing reason for a complete stranger to lie.

I was still staring at the mirror when Blake came in. 'Losing your touch, Avon?' he asked cheerfully. 'It's not like you to return this early from a night on the town.'

I spun round to deliver one of my usual cutting remarks but instead found myself saying, rather plaintively, 'Blake, do you think I look dangerous?'

He examined my reflection and then turned to examine me. 'Not right at this moment,' he decided. 'As a matter of fact, if I didn't know you so well, I'd say you looked upset.'

'Perhaps, but then your powers of observation have never been acute,' I retorted and Blake chuckled and said, 'Now you look dangerous.'

Inexplicably, that bothered me. I swung back to the basin, pretending to find a speck of grime under a fingernail. Next minute I felt the warm touch of breath against my cheek as Blake wrapped an arm around me, saying, 'You're looking upset again. How can I help?'

'You can let go of me,' I replied, attempting to shrug him off. 'I am not a child in need of comfort.'

I meant what I said and yet I was perversely pleased when Blake tightened his hold. 'All right, Avon,' he murmured, 'if you don't want comfort, what do you want?'

I planned to make another cutting remark but as I prepared to speak, an unexpected echo-effect rang in my ears: Vila Restal's voice saying, 'Get a life, Avon.'

So I told Blake what I wanted.

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and said, 'Yes, I think that could be arranged.' Then he transferred his hand from his jaw to mine, tipped my head back and kissed me, long and hard. When I resisted, to show that he would need to raise the stakes higher than a kiss, he took me by the shoulders, shoved me against the wall and wrenched every stud on my tunic open with one powerful tug.

Impelled by its own weight, the tunic dropped to the floor, sliding easily down the silk sleeves of my shirt. I shivered. (Vila was right, for once, in his estimate of my reason for wearing leather.) Then Blake fanned large, warm hands across my ribs in a butterfly pattern, pinning me there like a specimen to be studied, while the heat from his body flowed into mine. He nodded decisively, thumbed the buttons on my shirt and eased silk away from skin, nipping at my neck in a kiss that came close to a bite.

I gasped, arched and angled my hips towards him. He laughed and snapped the studs at my waist one-handed, his other hand charting my chest and pinching at my nipples. More dexterous - or should I say ambidextrous? - than I would have expected. As I closed my eyes and sighed my appreciation, I felt his hand burrow down to cup my balls. I shifted slightly to free my cock from the restraining leather and hissed, 'Fast and hard, Blake. As hard as you wish.'

He closed in, nailing me to the wall with a shrug of his big shoulders, his broad chest pressed so close that I could feel the heave of breath in his lungs. His fist engulfed my cock and dragged along the shaft: a strong, tight grip, maintaining the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. Oh, yes. Enough mastery here to allow me to submit, temporarily at least. I relaxed and let Blake handle my cock, slow and fast by turns but always unremittingly hard, pulling steadily up smooth stretched skin, provoking every nerve that laced rigid flesh, until I was so distracted that a small surprised mew escaped my mouth, followed instantly by an unstoppable convulsion in my groin. I clung to Blake, eyes tight shut, while his hand continued to pump inexorably.

Shuddered and came with a violence that slammed me full-length against him.

As I hung there, spent and breathless, Blake turned me in his arms and tidied me, smoothing sweaty hair from my forehead, fastening my clothes like a diligent nurse. Then he leaned back and examined me.

'Avon,' he murmured in a tone that I finally identified as kindly, 'is that your idea of good sex?' I nodded, still breathless, and he said, 'Well, it isn't mine. You've got a lot to learn, haven't you? But I think I'll enjoy teaching you.'

I stared at him, lips parted, half intrigued and half terrified. Having shaken my sexual foundations, he was now calmly informing me that he had barely begun. The past fifteen minutes had already provided the best sex of my life so far. I couldn't imagine what Blake might have in mind for an encore.

He settled a heavy hand on my shoulder and steered me down to his cabin, where I looked around at a chaotic mix of dirty laundry, valuable art objects, rubbish and half-finished plans: rather like a metaphor for Blake himself. All my latent misgivings surfaced in a rush. It was time to define the parameters of this enterprise, before I became subsumed into the debris of Blake's life.

'I hope you are not taking this too seriously,' I purred. 'I should warn you that I have always regarded sex as a fairly trivial pastime. My relationship with Orac is, fundamentally, far more important.'

Blake frowned. 'Avon, Orac is a computer, not a person - as you keep pointing out to us.'

'I know. That is precisely why it is possible to have a satisfactory relationship with Orac.'

He leaned over to ruffle my hair in an infuriatingly paternal fashion. 'Oh, sweetheart,' he sighed. 'Despite that acute intelligence, you're still a child in some ways, aren't you?'

I didn't consider that comment at all flattering, so I said, rather nastily, 'I see. Presumably that explains why you find me attractive.'

Blake's eyes narrowed. He studied me for a while, chewing on a fingertip, and then muttered, 'Mind you, in other ways you're just a poisonous little bitch. I think this conversation's over.'

As he turned to fling the door open, I surprised myself by lunging after him in a most undignified fashion, grabbing his arm and gasping, 'Blake, wait. I admit I went too far.'

'Is that an apology, Avon?' he asked and I nodded fractionally. Blake studied me again, sighed and said, 'Oh well, I suppose it will have to do.'

He leaned forward and kissed my mouth lightly. Then he began to undo buttons and studs, one by one this time, pausing in between to stroke bared skin and offer more kisses. Too gentle and far too slow. I was quivering with impatience but I forced myself to remain passive, while at the same time using every skill I knew to present passivity as a provocation. Although I wanted Blake urgently, I could not let him see the extent of my need. The bullying at my boarding school was sexual in nature: as a by-product of an expensive education, a substantial proportion of the Alpha Elite considers it a defeat to show pleasure while being fucked. Not very logical, I know, but then, the lessons learnt in youth rarely are.

At any rate, I had never been greatly troubled by that particular limitation, since none of my previous sexual partners had seemed to deserve much encouragement. However, I might have guessed that Blake would insist on challenging my reticence.

'Do you like that?' he asked in a throaty whisper, every time his hand delved further inside my clothing. I groaned in response, head tilted back, knuckles jammed against my teeth. Blake watched me for a few seconds and then said, 'Avon, it's considered polite to answer a direct question. Let me try again. Do you like that?'

The interruption seemed unnecessary. I was here, wasn't I? Surely Blake knew me well enough to understand what that meant. However, despite his obvious arousal, it appeared that he was not prepared to continue until he had an answer, so I took a long shuddering breath, overcame twelve years of education and gasped a reluctant 'yes'.

'That's better,' he said approvingly. 'This "make me do it" game of yours may work on other occasions but I prefer to be sure my partners are willing.'

I could feel the rise and fall of my chest, barely two seconds for each breath. Damn. I was hyperventilating. I only hoped Blake would not notice. How on earth had he managed to reach into my brain and pick out the exact words that ran through it every time I allowed someone to fuck me? **Make me do it. Make me like it.** An erotic mantra that had always worked: always: except that in Blake's voice, it sounded obscurely wrong.

I had, I admit, nurtured a secret hope that Blake would indeed make me like it, more than anyone else had managed so far. After all, he had made me do a great many other things that I would not willingly have chosen. But, typically, it seemed that he had selected the most inconvenient moment possible to turn democratic. If he were waiting for a display of spontaneous enthusiasm, he would wait a long time.

Or so I thought initially, although in fact I found myself responding with unusual ease. Blake's tastes (an unfortunately appropriate word) tend towards the oral. Over the next hour he must have licked or sucked almost every square centimetre of my body, rendering me acutely aware of erogenous zones whose existence I had never previously suspected. It was a gentle, thorough and totally unnerving process, bearing no resemblance to anything I had experienced with the Blake-substitutes encountered on my jaunts with Vila. I found it excruciatingly painful.

In the end, unable to endure another of his featherlight caresses, I twisted away, whispering, 'Blake, it hurts.'

He pulled back and looked down at me, alarmed. Then he smiled and said, 'Only because you're fighting it, sweetheart. Is it so hard to let yourself be loved?'

'I don't know,' I said irritably. 'I have never tried before.'

'Not even with the mythical Anna?' he asked, still smiling.

I shrugged. 'I liked Anna because I thought she was as ruthless as I. When she let herself be caught by the Federation, I rather lost faith in my own judgment.'

Blake stared at me for a few seconds, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'Well, you were right when you told me I wouldn't understand about you and Anna,' he gasped finally. 'That explanation would never have occurred to me. Have you always been so well-defended?'

'With one exception,' I said, barely audible, although naturally Blake heard it.

'You mean me, Avon?' he asked in surprise. 'Strange, I would've said the way you treat me was a prime example of your defences.'

For some reason I felt hurt by that. Blake noticed and immediately began to stroke and pet me, as though I were indeed a sulky child. Embarrassingly enough, I responded in the most obvious manner possible, which made it difficult to pull away as I had intended. Blake wrapped his fist around my aching cock and said, 'Good. Time for your next lesson. You've learned to take it more slowly. Let's see whether you can learn to ask for what you want.'

He squeezed my cock encouragingly and rolled me onto my stomach. I felt a cool trickle run down the crack between my buttocks, followed by the slippery glide of a hand as Blake began to work the oil into my skin. His fingertips swirled round the tight pucker of muscle that they found there, teasing and massaging, dipping deeper for a second and instantly withdrawing. Repeating the procedure to the point where I was squirming across the sheets in an ecstasy of frustration.

Then, abruptly, his hand was gone, replaced by a more diffuse pressure. I gasped in recognition and thrust back, hoping to impale myself on his cock, but he laughed and moved with me, saying, 'Remember, Avon, you only have to ask.' Evidently, he was determined to deny me until I proved that I had learnt his lesson. It was one of the traits I had always disliked most in Blake: his tendency to fixate on a goal and pursue it with single-minded it intensity until it was achieved. But perhaps I had merely been jealous. Certainly, I did not appear to dislike his obsessiveness when it was focussed on me. I resisted a little longer, just for form's sake, and then gave in.

'Blake, make love to me,' I demanded, an expression that I could not remember having ever used before. He sighed shakily and let his cock sink inside me, so I decided to indulge him by repeating the command. After that I lost track of events for a while, although I believe that at some point I may have abbreviated it to 'Love me, Blake' and that Blake was whispering back, 'Yes, Avon. Yes, sweetheart. I do, I do.'

By the end of Blake's second lesson I felt as though I had been dismantled and reassembled, rather like one of my experiments with the Liberator's technology. I was the same as before and yet, having been so completely known, I was strangely different. All of that gentle licking and sucking seemed to have scraped me raw. Every time I moved, my heart hurt. Tears started to leak from under my eyelids and Blake lifted a big hand to wipe them away.

'Well, Avon?' he asked. 'Are you ready to tell me how you feel? Is this just a one-night stand or -?'

'No,' I said, far too swiftly. Having made an elementary mistake, I then compounded it by adding, 'As a matter of fact, I suspect I may love you.'

Blake grinned. 'May?' he repeated. 'Oh well, luckily I wasn't expecting unqualified enthusiasm. Although, come to think of it, I just got more than I expected. Do you really mean that, Avon?'

'Yes ,' I spat. 'How many times do you want me to say it?'

'A good many more,' he said promptly. 'I like hearing it, sweetheart, so you'd better learn to enjoy telling me.'

Blake is, without question, the most irritating man I have ever met. No, on second thoughts, that is not entirely true. He competes with Vila Restal for the honour. Between the two of them, they are enough to destroy anyone's peace of mind. I closed my eyes to signal that the conversation was over and almost instantly fell asleep, so quickly that I forgot to detach myself from Blake.

I slept more soundly than usual, as though he were guarding me in my dreams.

When I woke, I was alone in the bed. To begin with, I felt relieved that Blake had taken himself off, avoiding the inevitable anticlimax of the morning after. Then, as I sat up and pushed the bedclothes away, I smelt Blake on the sheets: as distinctive as a signature, honey and aloes mixed. My cock stiffened reflexively and my face burned. An inappropriately strong reaction, almost as though I missed him, which, of course, I did not.

I quit Blake's cabin at once, borrowing a bathrobe that also, inconveniently, carried his scent. Safe in the shower room, I plotted half a dozen ways to convince him that declarations made in bed are never to be relied on. That restored my composure, at least until I caught sight of my face in the mirror: eyes dark and dazed, mouth still swollen from his kisses. Dangerous, indeed! Between the two of us, Blake had undoubtedly proved himself to be the dangerous one - dangerous to me, at any rate.

Back in my cabin, I allowed a brief moment of self-indulgence, burying my face in the bathrobe and inhaling its scent deep into my lungs. Then I tossed it onto the floor and swung away. Armouring myself in my severest leathers, I checked my reflection, steadied the set of its mouth and prepared to face the others with as much of my usual hauteur as I could currently muster.

I emerged onto the flight deck just as Vila came reeling in from the teleport bay. Since timing is crucial in these matters, I made sure I had the first word, saying, 'Well now, did you have an enjoyable time with your curly-haired hunk?' in tones of silken malice.

Vila's eyes met mine and then travelled downwards. 'Yeah,' he said, grinning like the fool that he is. 'Have a good time with yours?'

I touched a hand to the side of my throat and felt the tender flesh of a bruise. Oh hell. Trust Roj Blake to make his mark. Trust Vila Restal to notice.

Attack being the best method of defence, I said instantly, 'You cut me out deliberately, didn't you, to provoke me into making a move on Blake? Damn you, Vila. Leave me alone in future. You have no business interfering with my life.'

'Wrong again,' he said, unperturbed. 'Fact is, I had to do something, quick smart. Otherwise I might've ended up making a pass at you myself on one of our little jaunts - and that would've been a fiasco for everybody concerned.'

He reached up and kissed me on the mouth for the first - and, believe me, last - time. As I stared at him incredulously, he grinned and reeled out, passing Blake who was on his way in. Vila paused to slap him on the back and say 'Lucky dog': an unmistakable insinuation which prompted Blake to stride over and kiss me soundly, in full view of Jenna and Cally who had followed him onto the flight deck.

So much for my best opportunity to show Blake that he should not presume on the events of the previous night. Vila might believe we had avoided a fiasco but the present scene was as close to my definition of a fiasco as I ever hoped to come. Jenna and Cally were exchanging matchmaker smiles, like doting aunts. Blake was folding a possessive arm around me and I, taken by surprise, was actually leaning into his embrace. I blushed for the first time since I had been sent to boarding school and turned my head away, only to be confronted by Vila, propped against the wall and giggling helplessly.

You see? Is it any wonder that I can't stand Vila Restal?

 


End file.
